


If the World was Ending You'd Come Over (Right?)

by xawesometrio



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xawesometrio/pseuds/xawesometrio
Summary: He grew stiff, breathing heavily as he turned around to peer out at the lake out of habit and he nearly fell over at the sight that greeted him. Arthur, dressed in the same armour and blazing red cape, bearing the Pendragon crest, that Merlin had buried him in, stood at the water’s edge looking dazed and confused. Merlin held his breath as his blue eyes slowly found his and a cry tore itself past the warlock’s lips.“Merlin!?” Arthur took an unsteady step forward and Merlin took one step back.Arthur's return is not as happy and exciting as one might have expected it to be, but who can blame Merlin for not handling it well when he had practically given up hope?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 387





	If the World was Ending You'd Come Over (Right?)

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this idea for years now and I kept waiting for someone to write something similar until I finally forced myself to sit down and actually write it myself. I love this show so much and I'm honestly surprised I haven't tried to write anything for Merlin sooner. I hope you enjoy!

Merlin had lost count of the years. They all seemed to blend together into a torturous, never ending cycle. Sometimes, when he felt nostalgic, he let himself indulge in the past. He would let his skin become smooth and his hair become short and dark once more. However, he couldn’t stand to look so young for long periods of time. When he would catch his reflection he would be transported into happier times. Times where he stood by Arthur’s side and the aching chasm of his loss didn’t tear him apart from the inside out. He typically preferred to look old and withered, his body reflecting his fragile state of mind. 

Camelot had fallen centuries ago. His friends died and their children passed on until no one alive knew him. His name was whispered in tales of old that slowly became more legend than fact. The world fell into chaos again and again, men fighting men in battles so bloody and brutal Merlin was sure Arthur would rise, but the lake stayed still. 

For those first few years he stayed by the lake indefinitely, watching each little cresting wave as if Arthur would rise in their wake. Eventually, he came to accept the fact that he would be waiting for Arthur’s return for many years. At first he had been worried that old age would take him before Arthur could come back to him, and then he understood the horrible truth. His hundredth birthday passed and he felt no signs of death creeping in. Age would never take Merlin the way it had taken his friends. 

He tried to move away from the Lake of Avalon for a time, but he could never part from the water’s edge for too long in fear that he would somehow miss Arthur. He eventually built a small cabin hidden within the thinning trees where he could overlook the water and wait. The world became more modern and people welcomed technology and forgot about magic. The new age was so adamant that magic never existed that he would occasionally have to light the flame of a candle to convince himself otherwise. Magic still hummed in his veins, pulsing through him like a second heartbeat, but even its beauty became dampened by Merlin’s grief. 

The years did not help to soften the blow of Arthur’s death. He still found himself waking in a cold sweat at the memory of the once strong and bright man slowly fading to nothing but a shell in his arms. On those nights, Merlin would stand out on the shores of the lake and scream until his lungs gave out and he could no longer produce any sound. The relief was ephemeral and left him more hollow and broken than before, but he continued the practice because he couldn’t imagine what he might do in its place. He felt selfish to think it, but he no longer cared about whatever disaster may invoke Arthur to rise from his watery grave, he just knew that he needed his best friend back. The world could burn so long as he could hold his King for one last moment.

~*~

It was one of those rare occasions where Merlin felt comfortable being young again. Perhaps it was because the long walks into town hurt his old bones, or maybe it was because he was craving human connection and making new acquaintances as an old man could be quite challenging. He was attempting to work at an old book shop owned by a sweet older lady who could no longer tote the heavy books from shelf to shelf. She had hired Merlin and another girl that reminded Merlin of Gwen so much that it hurt to talk to her sometimes. Her name was Madelyn and she never pried into Merlin’s history despite how deeply her curiosity pained her and he appreciated her for it. The silence from the lake hung like a constant shroud around his head and he knew everyone could tell something was weighing him down. A part of him suspected that that was the reason the old woman, Lily, had hired him. 

“Did you have a nice weekend?” 

He jumped slightly, Madelyn’s question breaking through his muddled thoughts. Merlin gently placed a new book on the dusty shelves, taking note that he should wipe them down soon. “It was fine.” 

“Do anything fun?” He sighed, accepting that she wasn’t going to let him stave off another conversation. 

_ You’re the one who wanted human company,  _ he thought bitterly to himself, offering Madelyn a small grimace. “I’m afraid my weekend was quite boring. I simply sat and read by the lake.” And waited. He wasn’t really sure what he was waiting for anymore. Would Arthur ever really return to him? 

“Huh,” He watched as the girl clicked her tongue and placed a book on the shelf. “I seem to recall that you did that exact same thing last weekend, and the one before that. You spend a lot of time at the lake. Not that that’s a bad thing! I think it’s lovely that you enjoy nature. I just think it’s odd, no sorry, not odd, just interesting? What I mean to say is, most men our age like to go out on the town and go on dates or hang out with their mates, but you never seem to do that.” 

There it was, her awkward fumbling of words that reminded him so keenly of Gwen. Merlin cleared his throat in an attempt to relieve that sudden lump that had formed. “Yes, well, I like the quiet.” He hated it. He missed the raucous laughter of the knights and his incessant banter with Arthur. The silence was a reminder that all of that was gone now, never to return. 

“I see,” She was disappointed, he could tell. He occasionally suspected that she might like him and if he were a younger, happier man he might have taken an interest as well. As it was, he could hardly stand to think of finding happiness in another when he knew he would just tear them apart. Besides, after at least a millennia, Merlin could admit to himself that his heart really belongs to one person, and one person alone. 

The two continued to work in silence, placing books upon the dusty shelves where they would likely just collect more dust. How the little book store was still up and running, Merlin had no clue. He suspected Lily might have poured her retirement funds into the shop and that alone was keeping the bookstore open. 

“Merlin, look at this!” His vision was suddenly blocked by red hair and the withered cover of a leather book being thrust into his face. He gently took the book from her hands and his mouth went dry.

_ The Tales of Camelot: The Arthurian Legend  _

Even after all this time, being confronted with his early years always threw him off balance. It hurt to hear Camelot and Arthur referred to as nothing more than the figment of Medieval imagination. If he hadn’t spent so many years suffering from the memory of that time then maybe he too would begin to believe Camelot had never existed. But it had to have existed or his life was meaningless. 

“I’m sure there’s plenty of stories about your namesake in here. Do you think Merlin really had a beard all the way down to his toes and a large pointy hat?” The question threw him off guard and almost coaxed a laugh out of him. The beard he understood, he had paraded around as an eighty year old man once or twice as Dragoon, but no one really knew that that was actually Merlin. But the hat? He had no idea where people had come up with that idea. Arthur would have had a laugh, staring at him in a ridiculous pointy hat. The prat would have gotten as much amusement out of it as he had when Merlin had worn the official servant’s garb when he had first started working for Arthur. He shivered at the thought of that feathered monstrosity. 

His fond memories slowly faded and he was left standing in the quiet bookshop with Madelyn eagerly awaiting his answer. He felt sick. “Perhaps.” Merlin handed her the book, swaying slightly on his feet with the harsh reality. He would never hear Arthur laugh again. Killgarah lied, he would never see his King again. He would never get to tell Arthur he loved him. The warlock had just enough presence of mind to realize that he was spiraling and he needed to get back home before he collapsed in on himself in front of his poor coworker who was starting to look worried. “Please tell Lily I’m going home early. I’m feeling ill.” 

“You should sit down.”

“No, I just need to get home.”

He hardly registered slipping past the girl and out the door. The chime of the bell rang in his ears and by the time it stopped he was surrounded by trees and his cabin stood just in front of him. It was a fifteen minute walk, he should be more concerned that he didn’t remember more of it. Merlin stumbled forward, chasing after his own feet until he crashed into his front door and pushed it open. He grew stiff, breathing heavily as he turned around to peer out at the lake out of habit and he nearly fell over at the sight that greeted him. 

Arthur, dressed in the same armour and blazing red cape, bearing the Pendragon crest, that Merlin had buried him in, stood at the water’s edge looking dazed and confused. Merlin held his breath as his blue eyes slowly found his and a cry tore itself past the warlock’s lips. 

“Merlin!?” Arthur took an unsteady step forward and Merlin took one step back. The edges of his vision were black and fuzzy. It felt like the walls were closing in around him but no matter how much his heart screamed at him to run and take Arthur into his arms he couldn’t bring himself to move forward. It couldn’t be real. Hadn’t he already convinced himself that Arthur was never coming back to him? Was this some sick game his mind was playing on him? “Merlin?” He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears. He couldn’t handle it if this wasn’t real. If Arthur wasn’t really there and this was all just a figment of his imagination he would finally break beyond repair. 

A pair of warm hands wrapped around his wrists and a scream ripped out of Merlin like a gunshot. He did the only thing he could think to do, he fled and threw himself into his bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

“Merlin! Merlin, god I’m sorry. What happened? Did I hurt you?” 

“You’re not real!” He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and almost fell over. His already pale skin had become transparent, his under eyes looked dark and sunken in and his face was wet, covered in tears that he didn’t even know he was shedding. For a terrifying moment he was reminded of Morgana, insane and terrified more than any person had a right to be. Perhaps he had finally become delusional. The memories brought on by the book his tipping point, sending him crashing over the edge that he had been teetering on for so long. 

“Merlin, of course I’m real you idiot. Why would I not be real?” 

“You’re dead Arthur, you’re gone. You’re just a figment of my imagination. You’re dead.”  _ You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re de- _

“I was dead,” Arthur sighed and there was a thud against the door that almost sounded like the other man had let his forehead fall forward to rest upon the wood. “I don’t really understand it, but you said it yourself, right? I’m the Once and Future King or something. Merlin, I’m not really sure what’s going on either, but would you please open the door?”

He let out a choked sob and slid down the door to rest his back against the sturdy surface. “I must be insane, the Arthur I know would never say please.” 

“Fine, Merlin open this door right now or I will kick it down.” The words held no bite, but he could tell Arthur meant them. 

“Could it really be you? After all these years, why now Arthur?” 

“The Lake said Albion needed me.” 

Merlin slowly rose to his feet and fumbled with the lock before carefully opening the door. He felt hollow as he recited the lines he told himself with every passing day. “Albion is gone. Camelot is gone. There’s nothing left.” 

“That’s not really true, is it?” Arthur cautiously took a step forward so he was standing in Merlin’s space. He looked out of place surrounded by modern appliances in his chainmail and armour. “You’re still here.”

Merlin broke. 

The tears that had ebbed returned with the force of a bursting dam, his legs breaking and giving way as what little strength he still possessed left him. He expected to feel the sharp pain of the hard floor crashing into his knees but instead two strong arms caught him, pulling him against cold and wet metal plates of armour. He wanted them gone. He desperately wanted to feel the warmth of Arthur’s skin. He needed to feel the proof that Arthur was actually alive and here. 

Merlin began to rip at Arthur’s armour, pulling it from his body with the ease that came with years of muscle memory; however distant such a memory might have been. Arthur let him. He helped ease his armour off and consoled Merlin when he came across the hole where the sword had penetrated the man’s body. A crushing sense of relief washed over Merlin when he finally removed the last piece and he could see that the wound was gone, not even a scar to serve as a reminder of the mortal wound. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t even tell which one of them was speaking. Perhaps it was both of them, trying to fix the suffering they had inflicted upon one another. 

“I’m here, Merlin. I’m back.” Arthur’s fingers ran through the dark strands of his hair and for the first time he let himself give in and believe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

~*~

Arthur’s return took some adjustments for the both of them. Arthur more so than Merlin since he was suddenly thrust into a modern age where everything was different. Both of them slowly had to learn how to be comfortable with Merlin using his magic in front of Arthur. He no longer flinched anytime Merlin muttered a spell or lit the fireplace with a glance and they both considered it great progress. From time to time, Merlin could have even sworn that Arthur looked impressed.

Merlin had planned to quit working at the bookstore to devote as much time as possible to Arthur, but the other man had actually found the place soothing despite his irreverence to books in his past life. Possibly, because Lily was behind the times and the only real piece of modern equipment she owned were the fluorescent bulbs attached to the ceiling and various reading lamps strewn about the shop.

Madelyn had lit up when she met Arthur and immediately made a comment about how Merlin had finally found his Arthur, “You know? Like the legends?” To which Merlin had spluttered and grown increasingly red trying to explain that they were just friends until Arthur took his hand and interlocked their fingers. 

They fell into a sort of routine. They would make their meals together, or more likely, Merlin would cook and Arthur would watch in utter confusion. They’d take walks along the lake and reminisce. Merlin would go to work at the store and Arthur would eventually wander in to sit down and read for a few hours. He’d buy a couple books every week because Merlin had scolded him for using the store as his personal library. They’d occasionally go on dates, but most nights they preferred to stay in, the modern world was still a little too confusing for Arthur to handle in large increments. 

It wasn’t perfect. Merlin would sometimes still wake up in a cold sweat with the memory of Arthur’s death fresh in his mind and he would be inconsolable until he inevitably would fall asleep wrapped in the safety and comfort of Arthur’s arms. They still fought, bickering and making jabs at one another until one of them would eventually have to step out and calm down. But they always came back to each other no matter how bad the fights would get. The couple constantly found themselves looking over their shoulders, trying to find the next threat, the promised reason Arthur had returned. Maybe Arthur had been right and he had returned simply because Merlin needed him. It would be a nice change of pace if that were so, but they wanted to remain vigilant. 

“I missed you.” Merlin whispered into the darkness of their room. He could hear the slight uptick in Arthur’s heartbeat where he had his head pressed against the other man’s chest. 

“I missed you too, though not nearly as much as you missed me I’m sure. I’m just that missable.” 

Merlin sat up, hovering over the blond man beneath him. Arthur’s eyes were dancing with mirth, his lips quirking up in a badly concealed smile. “Clotpole.” It felt good to be able to lean down and press a soft kiss against Arthur’s lips, basking in the warmth and comfort that the other man brought to him. 

For the first time in a millennia, with Arthur finally back at his side, Merlin truly felt alive again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and leave kudos. I'm in desperate need to find people who still care about this show. If you’d like to see any of my Merlin edits or just talk about the show you can find me on Instagram @celestialupin


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